Continuing
by Badgergater
Summary: Daniel goes in search of an old friend; missing scene from Continuum


Continuing

By Badgergater

Season: Movie, Continuum

Category: Missing Scene, Jack and Daniel friendship; set mid-movie, after the team members are sent off to their new lives.

Pairing: None Rating: Anyone Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Neither Stargate nor Jack are mine, more's the pity.

Author's Note: This is the scene I kept expecting to see in the movie….

He waited months, talking himself out of it time and time again, but finally he went, because Jack was his best friend.

Had been his best friend, Daniel corrected himself sternly as he made the long drive to Colorado Springs. The rental car was this reality's version of a Toyota and virtually indistinguishable from the one he was familiar with back in his own timeline.

Long hours alone in the car had left him too much time to think, time to remember how Jack O'Neill had been his friend, in that other reality, in that other life he'd once lived; that Jack, not this Jack. That Jack, his quirky, annoying, mystifying, frustrating, all too often obtuse and infuriating friend. Why they'd became best friends he'd never understood, but they had. And then Jack had been promoted, gotten reassigned to Washington and their friendship had faded but never failed completely, until the day Jack, on a distant world, light years from home, had died before his very eyes.

Not this Jack, who was still alive.

Not this Jack, who still had a son named Charlie and a wife named Sara and had never even once travelled to another planet.

Curiosity drove Daniel as it always had, the innate need to know, even if this time it was almost voyeuristic to search out Jack O'Neill's house and watch.

But he had to see for himself.

Of course, Daniel had, purely out of habit, driven first to the wrong house, to the one that the Jack he knew so well had lived in for eight years, the cedar-sided split level he'd visited countless times. And though he drove right to it, the differences were immediately apparent—the siding was tan rather than dark brown; there were carefully tended flowers of a dozen varieties blooming profusely along the walk which was flagstone and not concrete, and there was no star-gazing platform on the roof. A mini-van with a peace-sign bumper sticker was parked in the driveway and bright-colored tiny plastic bicycles with oversized wheels were scattered around the yard along with a half dozen other toddler-sized toys Daniel couldn't name.

So, definitely not Jack's house.

It took Daniel a while to find the other house, the blue one the O'Neill family had lived in. The one where in his world Charlie had died and Sara had, after that, lived alone. Daniel had only been there that one time, years ago after the incident with the blue crystal beings made that unstable copy of Jack. It took him a lot longer to find that house, and not just because he didn't know the route as well. Once again, Daniel encountered neighborhood differences in this reality, and though they were slight and often subtle, altogether they were just enough to add to his confusion — exacerbated by the fact that this world didn't have Mapquest or Google on-line or GPS systems to guide you right to a location. Besides, he was relying on ten year old memories which were further confounded by the timeline differences, like the fact that the park that had been on the corner by Sara's house wasn't a park on this world but was just a continuation of the housing subdivision, and the two-story red brick library that stood on the end of this street hadn't existed at all in his version of Earth.

Eventually, after driving round and round for nearly an hour, he did find the place. It was the same shade of blue as the one he remembered, but with a lawn that needed mowing and a cheery, shamrock bedecked 'Welcome to our house - The O'Neills' sign hanging beside the front door.

Daniel parked the car across the street, slumping down in the seat and waiting, his presence inside the vehicle hidden by the rental vehicle's heavily tinted windows.

He didn't have to wait very long.

Sara came home first.

Though he'd only met her the one time, Daniel remembered her well. The difference in this Sara versus the other was striking, even from a distance. Instead of bobbed off short hair, this Sara had long, thick locks pulled loosely back into a casual ponytail fastened with a blue and white ribbon. She was tall and still slender, striding up to the house on long, trim legs. (He noticed people's legs so much more now, now that he had only one of his own.) Mostly, though, what was different, even from this far away, was the ordinariness of her face. Sure, she was ten years older than the Sara he remembered, but this one's face wasn't as lined or care-worn as the other, the one who had been ravaged by tragedy. This one showed an inner peace that the Sara of his timeline had lost forever on that horrific day eleven years ago.

Half an hour later, Jack was the next one home, his arrival giving Daniel a sudden shock of memory as the dark green Ford pickup pulled into the driveway. Daniel had a blessedly brief but far too vivid flashback of his friend lying in a pool of blood on the floor of an alien building, dying at Baal's hand on a far distant world; of watching the last glimmer of life fade forever from the brown eyes, the expression going slack and empty.

Daniel took a deep breath, banished the memory, and watched this very much alive Jack O'Neill climb out of his truck. Though on the whole this Jack O'Neill looked the same as the one Daniel knew so very well, this one, too, was quite different, more at ease with himself. He still had the long-legged, gangly gait, though the stride was lighter and more even, as if the knees or maybe the back were better. This face, too, was heavier than the Jack he'd first come to know a decade ago, just as Jack's had changed with age, but the heavy load that had weighed down his friend the last few years wasn't visible here. How much of that was having Charlie and Sara still in his life, how much was not having been a victim of Ba'al's torture, or bearing the responsibility for running the Stargate program or, these last two years, being exiled to Washington, he didn't know, but the difference was glaringly obvious.

It just felt so good to see Jack alive again, even if he knew this really wasn't the Jack who was his friend; wasn't the man he'd shared life and death dangers with; wasn't the man who'd been like an older, obnoxious brother to him.

More than anything, it was good to see a Jack who wasn't burdened by the guilt of one moment of horror, eleven long years ago, that had shattered his life like broken glass.

And then, just before Jack got to the door, another car pulled up to the curb and parked in front of the house. The stereo was blaring, the muffler a bit too loud, and it looked sleek and fast. A tall young man jumped out. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt, baggy shorts and flip-flops. His hair was light brown, his shoulders broad, and his legs long and muscular. The young man hurried around to the trunk of the car and pulled out a gear bag of a kind Daniel recognized as similar in shape and size to the one he'd seen Jack use to carry his hockey equipment, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried up to the house.

If seeing Jack alive again had been like seeing a ghost, then seeing Charlie O'Neill was like seeing the ghost of a ghost. Or, as the Jack he knew would say, déjà vu all over again.

Daniel had only seen the boy once, well, it hadn't really been the boy, but the blue crystal being's image of the boy created from Jack's memory of his son. That version of Charlie had been only about ten years old. This was clearly that same youngster grown to young manhood, tall, handsome and athletic. He had Jack's bold chin and athleticism and his mother's eyes and grace.

Jack was standing on the porch, impatiently glaring at the young man. "I thought you were going to come straight home tonight and mow the lawn."

"I had hockey practice," Charlie sulked.

"You'll have to do it tomorrow then. Mom will have dinner on the table in a few minutes."

The boy threw his father a peeved look, a perfect copy of one of those Jack O'Neill looks that Daniel knew so very well because he'd seen Jack use them on generals, presidents, and even alien gods. Jack sighed and went into the house, Charlie following close behind.

So now he had seen them and he knew he should leave right then, but he didn't. Maybe because he didn't want to go back to the loneliness of his hotel room and to the emptiness of the life he was leading, devoid of the things he had lived for in his other existence — his friends and his work.

So while darkness settled down over the quiet suburban street, he stayed and watched as, a few minutes later, Jack emerged onto the deck at the side of the house, grilling the steaks as Sara carried dishes out from the kitchen. In a few minutes, the family was seated around the outdoor table, talking as they ate, laughing and smiling.

Daniel strained to hear the conversation from the O'Neill's dinner table. From the snatches of it that he could discern, it seemed light and filled with laughter. Sara, he couldn't help noting, smiled a lot and Jack seemed to be telling tall stories.

It was peaceful and ordinary and watching it made Daniel's heart break to think of all that his friend had lost.

Maybe he dozed off — Daniel did notice that it seemed to have gotten suddenly much darker — or maybe he just didn't hear. Jack always did have the ability to sneak up on him. Suddenly, the passenger side car door was yanked opened and an angry looking Jack slid into the seat beside him, the sleek yet deadly outline of a Beretta clutched firmly in his hand.

"You!" O'Neill exclaimed.

"Hi, Jack."

O'Neill glared in a way so familiar that Daniel's heart lurched.

"What the hell are you doing here, Jackson?" the soldier demanded. "No, wait, don't tell me, I know. You came to tell me all about how we're best friends and save the world every other week, like Hank Bolo and Cheerbacca."

Daniel recognized the snarky attitude with sudden affection. He'd never told his friend but he'd actually found that he'd truly missed that daily dose of mangled names (of course, on this world, maybe it really was Hank Bolo and Cheerbacca) and inappropriate sarcasm when Jack had left the team to take a job behind a desk. "I just wanted to…"

"Stalk my family? My *dead* family?"

Oh, yeah, this Jack had every ounce of the O'Neill sarcasm and he wielded it like a double-edge sword. Daniel wanted to grin, but didn't. "Sara wasn't dead. You were divorced," he blurted out, then quickly snapped his mouth closed.

The strong chin lifted in the familiar belligerent pose. "So my kid is dead and my wife left me and you're my best friend. You know, I'm really, really glad I don't live in this fantasy world of yours, Mr. Jackson."

"Doctor Jackson." And Jack, you don't live in my world, not anymore. You're dead. And the you I knew lived in such pain that I can't ask you to give up this utopia you aren't even aware you're living in, even if I know it isn't going to last.

Despite the fact that Daniel all too well knew what horrors awaited this reality, a part of him couldn't help being happy for this Jack, for all the things he didn't know, for the aching tragedy of loss and the horror of unending guilt that had shattered and re-formed Jack O'Neill, the family man, into the solitary Jack he knew. There was a layer of darkness in the eyes of that Jack O'Neill that was thankfully absent here in this one, a world weary ruthlessness he'd never seen his friend without and would wish on no one.

The Jack he knew had seen the wonders of the universe and its horrors as well, but worst of all had lived the last decade with the memory, and the guilt, of a precious life snuffed out too young.

"I could have you arrested, you know," O'Neill threatened half-heartedly.

Daniel didn't know what to say. "I didn't come here to hurt anyone. I just wanted to see for myself."

"Okay, you've seen. Done now?"

"Yes."

"Good, then you can go now."

"Jack…."

O'Neill scowled. "*Don't* call me that. That's what my *friends* call me."

Oh, that stung, stung deeply. Daniel paused, and then added, softly. "Charlie, he seems like a great young man."

Jack sighed in frustration. "Leave my kid out of this. You don't know a damn thing about him."

Daniel nodded, then blurted out. "He's named for your high school hockey coach, Charlie Engalstad."

Jack waved the gun in Daniel's face, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "How do you know that? No one knows that. Have you been talking to Sara? If you've upset her with your alternate reality crap…" he threatened.

Daniel raised his hands in defense, or surrender. "No, no, I've never said a word to her. *You* told me that, once, a long time ago."

Jack scowled and rolled his eyes. "Oh for cryin' out loud."

This time Daniel couldn't stop the grin. "And you say that a lot."

"So?"

"So your grandfather taught you to fish, and to shoot, and-and curling," Daniel let the words pour out in a rush. "And you love hockey and vanilla ice cream and your cousin David was your best friend when you were 11 and the boat tipped over on Blackberry Lake and he nearly drowned and your dog was with you; his name was Rex. You burn the steaks on the grill and you watch the _Simpsons_ and _Poochinsky_…" he only hoped those shows existed in this reality because he never watched television except for the history channel, "…and your grandfather's cabin in Minnesota has a pond with no fish…."

"You *have* been spying on me!" The dangerous glint was back in O'Neill's eyes.

Daniel sighed. "No, really, I know those things because I know you."

Jack shook his head, this other Jack who was so much like the Jack he knew, and yet so obviously wasn't. "Maybe I should turn you in."

"No, don't. Please. Just, just be sure they're safe," Daniel whispered earnestly. "I'll leave, and I won't come back. Just, just treasure them. That's all I ask."

O'Neill's eyes narrowed, another look Daniel knew well, one where he was assessing someone, considering the truth, or lack of it, in what he was hearing. Then he shook his head, slid his Beretta back inside his shirt and reached for the door handle.

"Jack…." He'd forgotten, but the glare O'Neill directed at him reminded Daniel that this man, though not the same as the one he knew, was nonetheless deadly. He'd seen the damage those skilled hands could do.

The words were uttered in a conversational tone of voice, but the threat could not have been clearer. "If you come back here again, Jackson, I'll have you arrested. Or maybe I'll just shoot you and save myself the trouble."

"You don't have to worry. I won't come back." Daniel started again. "Please, just, just, if the time comes, if there's an alien attack, go through the gate and look for the Tok'ra."

O'Neill looked puzzled. "The okra? Vegetables are going to save us from your aliens?"

"They're not *my* aliens. And the Tok'ra, they're our allies."

Shaking his head, O'Neill opened the door and climbed out, muttering, "Gibberish."

Daniel leaned across the seat, making eye contact with the military man. "It's not. I hope you never need to know this, but please, please, remember what I'm telling you. Oh, and be sure to tell them you have the Ancient gene. That's very important."

He threw Daniel a withering glare. "I know I'm a little long in the tooth, 'Doctor' Jackson, but ancient I'm not."

"Not ancient, the Ancient _gene_," he corrected. "The Tok'ra will understand."

"Ancient okra, riiiight," O'Neill glared, shook his head and slammed the car door shut, pointing at him, then pointing down the street in a clear 'go' gesture.

Daniel reached for the ignition. "All right, all right, I'm going now. Goodbye, Jack." He started the car, put it in drive, and pulled away from the curb. In his rear-view mirror, he caught a last glimpse of this Jack standing in the street, staring thoughtfully after him.

- The End -


End file.
